The Irregulars
by Kerowyn
Summary: With a name like The Irregulars and members like Holmes, Watson and Moriarty, things are bound to get interesting for this London band. Rated for mild violence and language. Please rr!
1. The Irregulars

Disclaimer:This is my first attempt at a Holmes fic. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson et. al. are not mine, they belong to that wonderful writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Please, please please tell me what you think. I always love suggestions and encouragment. I hope to post the rest of it soon! Read and enjoy!  
  
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The Irregulars  
  
  
The last bass chord echoed in the speakers as the crowd went wild. Lead vocalist Lorelei Moriarty waved and bowed while the rest of the band, James Mortimer on guitar, Alexander Holmes on bass, and me, Solei Watson, on drums, waited for Lorelei to stop bantering with the crowd.   
  
Lorelei declared that our set was over but that we'd be back in a half-hour. The crowd cheered again and dispersed over the lawn. We were playing at our university's back to school party. I thought that going back to school was a weird thing to celebrate. But, we are a weird group, or as James described us "irregular", hence the name.  
  
But that's all beside the point. The point was the set was over, and Holmes and I went and sat away from the crowd and the speakers.  
  
"Not bad." Said Alex, "Not bad at all."   
  
"Considering we've barely practiced together lately." I chuckled, "That was fantastic."  
  
"Which reminds me, we really haven't been properly introduced. Alex Holmes," He made a face, "I hate the name Alex, just call me Holmes."  
  
I laughed, "I know what you mean. Solei Watson." I shook his hand. "Just wait until people hear, Moriarty, Holmes, and Watson playing in the same band. They'll be sure we're using fake names."  
  
Holmes chuckled. "I was obsessed with those books when I was a kid." He turned and looked me up and down. "For example, I can tell that you are American, an athlete, probably in basketball, but you quit, and now you are a excellent student with bad handwriting who is right handed."  
  
"That's incredible!" I exclaimed right before I realized that I'd said the exact same thing Watson always said in the stories. "Okay, I know how you got American, right-handed, and athlete. But the rest of it, how did you know?"  
  
Holmes shrugged, "You have calluses on your hand from the basketball, but they are starting to heal. From the ink stains on you hand, you write a lot, and most people use a computer for everything except notes. And you're in pre-med right?" I nodded. "All doctors have bad handwriting."  
  
I was just about to say 'That's amazing, Holmes!' but caught myself in time. "That's just freaky." I said.  
  
Being the newbie in the band was an interesting experience. My mom dragged me across the Atlantic a couple of years ago when she dumped my dad's sorry ass. Lorelei and I went to high school together, so when The Irregulars lost their drummer, I was nominated to replace him. I was still getting to know Holmes and James. James was hyperactive, chatty, and incredibly fun to be around. Holmes was, well Holmes. Quiet and brooding, he rarely spoke, and had the weirdest hobbies. For example, no one would be his roommate because he kept this giant chemistry set in his room and was always cooking up something. He set off the fire alarm five times in one semester.  
  
We were pretty good, considering we'd practiced together, like never before this gig. I liked these guys a lot, but James was starting to get on my nerves, in a little brother sort of way. He kept going on about the Sherlock Holmes stories and our last names, he swore there was a Mortimer in a Holmes story and that he was going to find him. I tried arguing with him all the way to the van, but he did have a point. Moriarty and Holmes weren't common names, and now they had a Watson to complete the set.   
  
"You sir, are an idiot." I told him while I was loading the speakers up. I loved that van. It looked exactly as a punk rock band's van should, complete with our name spray painted across the back. By the time we left the party, it was well after midnight, and I just wanted to get to sleep after a hard night's partying.  
  
I walked over to Lorelei, who was shoving some stuff off the driver's seat. "We ready?"  
  
"I think so." Holmes answered me as he came around the front of the van. Moriarty was saying something about our next gig when the sound of someone peeling out caught my attention. I always hated those guys, they thought they were so cool cause they could make some stupid noise. Anyway, I looked around and saw a car coming straight for us with its lights off.  
  
Before this all registered in my head, someone stuck their head out the window. Holmes tackled me before I could realize that person was holding a gun. The car pulled up next to the van and fired seven shots. I dunno how I knew there were seven, but some part of my brain counted.   
  
The car spun its wheels for a split second and showered us with gravel. By the time it had spun around the nearest corner, only fifteen seconds had passed.   
  
Holmes and I scrambled to our feet, shaken. The first thing I saw was the bullet holes that riddled the sides of the van. The next thing was Lorelei's body slumped over the steering wheel.   
  
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Until next time, please review! .·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	2. The Hospital

Disclaimer: Anything that belongs to Sir Conan Doyle belongs to, well, him. I just borrowing them, I promise.  
A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! I hope to finish by the end of the week...  
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James came running up from wherever else he had been. "Get an ambulance!" He screamed at the gathering bystanders. Cell phones were pulled out from purses and pockets. I opened the door, my first aid training kicking in. I was in pre-med dammit, I could help her.  
  
The rest of the night was a blur of ambulances, police, and hospitals. I woke up the next morning on a hard waiting room couch, stiff and sore. My arm stung from where I scraped it on the pavement. James was also unconscious on a nearby sofa and Holmes was in a chair, staring out the window.   
  
I yawned and rolled onto my back, trying to remember what the hell had just happened. The memories hit me suddenly and I sat bolt upright. This was a mistake, since I was suffering from a combination of a hangover, a lack of sleep, and very sore muscles. I groaned and lay back down again to wait for the throbbing in my head to go away.  
  
"Good morning." Holmes said bitterly.  
  
Several sarcastic replies came to mind, but I settled for, "Oh, yes very excellent morning indeed." I stared at the ugly tiled ceiling for a moment, attempting to rally my thoughts. About fifteen questions occurred to me at once and I was trying to sort them all out when Holmes answered every single one.  
  
"We're at Mercy General Hospital. It's about nine in the morning. Lorelei is in stable but serious condition. She's still unconscious so they're only letting family in. The doctors say she has a whole lot of injuries but she should recover in time. The police say it was a random gang thing and I don't believe them."   
  
The certainty in Holmes voice caught my attention. "What do you mean?"   
  
"I don't know." Well that certainly was informative. One thing you gotta know about Holmes is he's a very secretive person. And not secretive in a shy kind of way, but secretive in the kind of way that make you want to scream. When he knows something, you aren't going to hear about it until he is absolutely sure. That's the kind of thing that's nice in, oh, say a research scientist, but in a friend it was absolutely infuriating.   
  
I gritted my teeth and let the remark pass. "You got anything to eat?" Holmes shook his head, never once looking away from the window. I sighed and sat up, slowly. I spent about a minute searching for my purse, until I realized I'd left it in the van. The van was probably parked in some police garage, miles from here.   
  
James mumbled in his sleep and turned over, facing the room. "Hey James." I whispered. "I need some money." James took out his wallet and dropped it into my hand, without ever opening his eyes. Holmes chuckled. James snorted and rolled over again.  
  
It took me about ten minutes to find the cafeteria. I got three sodas, some candy and some chips, crisps I think they call them here. Anyway, when I got back, Holmes wasn't brooding by the window any more; he was pacing up and down the cramped room. I dumped my findings onto a table and watched Holmes pace.  
  
Finally, I got dizzy watching him go back and forth over and over again. "Sit down. You'll wear a hole in the carpet." I threw a bag of chips at him, which he caught, looking surprised. But he did sit down.   
  
"I didn't hear you come in." He complained, running his hand through his short black hair.  
  
"I'm not surprised, you looked like you were somewhere else."  
  
"Yeah, the crime scene." Before I could ask what on earth he was talking about, he spoke again. "Look, Solei,"  
  
"Call me Watson, everyone else does." I interrupted.  
  
"Watson," Holmes continued. "The police's theory doesn't fit. Gang shootings aren't that accurate." I raised my eyebrow and attempted a puzzled look. "That guy didn't shoot at us, even though we were easy targets. He went for Lei, despite the fact she was out of their line of sight before they stopped."  
  
"You think someone put a hit out on a college student?" I said incredulously.   
  
"Moriarty is more than just a college student. Her uncle is Lord Moriarty." Holmes paused dramatically, as if this had some great meaning. "Lord Moriarty, member of the House of Lords, one of the biggest names in London politics."   
  
I shrugged. Holmes shook his head in disgust. "Look here," I said, "I've only been in this bloody country a couple of years, what do you want from me?"  
  
Holmes' expression said, "A great deal more," but he wisely didn't say it.  
  
"So you think this thing is political?" I asked.  
  
Holmes shook his head in a manner that could have be interpreted as yes or no. "There is more security." He nodded his head at a man in dark clothing who was wandering the halls a little too casually. "I need more information."  
  
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Comments, critisms, complaints, condundrums, more words that start with 'C', please review!   
Thanks.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	3. Investigating

Disclaimer:Everything that belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle. I'm just borrowing it for a while  
A/N's  
Jen- Bull'e eye on Mortimer's identification  
  
Hank- i copied the sign from someone else, and stuck my name in the blank =)  
  
Everyone else-thanks for reviewing!  
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Holmes disappeared for the rest of the day. We met back in the common room of our dorm. Holmes flung himself into a chair and stared at the blank t.v. for a moment.  
  
"Well?" I prompted.  
  
"What?" Holmes answered. I set my teeth and replied.  
  
"What did you find out?"  
  
Holmes sighed. "For such an easy going girl, Lorelei had a lot of enemies." He pause for a moment, for dramatic effect. The guy woulda been a great actor. "First there's Lord Moriarty, then the jealous ex-boyfriend, the older half-sister, any of Moriarty's enemies, plus anyone who ever had a grudge against one of Moriarty's policies." Holmes gave a short bitter laugh. "That covers just about everyone in London."  
  
"Well, we can rule out the boyfriend." I said. "Lei got a call from him in the States an hour ago." Holmes looked at me incredulously. "I was in her dorm, getting some stuff when he called."  
  
"Huh." Holmes said. "That leaves the sister and Moriarty. Doesn't she go here?"  
  
As it turned out Lorelei's half-sister Elizabeth went to our university as a grad student. How I got dragged into coming with Holmes for an interrogation, I'll never know. But we found Elizabeth Moriarty leaving for a class, and walked with her part of the way.  
  
"Hey Beth!" I called. "Wait up." The older girl turned reluctantly.  
  
"Hey Solei, how's it going?" She sighed and didn't wait for an answer. "I'm just fine, my sister got shot, the media has been ambushing me, and I'm late for class."  
  
I tried to think of something reassuring when Holmes spoke up. "You don't know who might have done this?" I winced at his utter lack of tact.  
  
Beth didn't seem to notice though. "Well, no. The media's been banging on about gangs and politics but that just doesn't seem right."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I dunno. I just know this wasn't some gang thing."  
  
"Where were you last night?" Beth stopped and looked sharply at Holmes.  
  
"You're Holmes right? Bass guitar?" Holmes nodded. "Lei told me you were into criminal investigation. All right, here's what I can tell you. I was at the lab last night, finishing an experiment. I don't know of anyone with a grudge against her and I don't know why someone would want to kill her. Does that satisfy your curiosity?" Despite her tone, Beth looked amused. Holmes nodded gravely.  
  
"I assure you I will do my best to find Lorelei's attacker." He said solemnly. Beth actually smiled a bit and walked off. "Well, that leaves but one suspect. Lord Moriarty."  
  
"We can't just go and ask some important politician if he tried to kill his niece." I pointed out. "We need evidence." Uh Oh. Did I just say we?  
  
"Yes, we do." Damn.  
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The plot thickens... .·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	4. Files and Folders

Disclaimer:Everything belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle. I claim only my humble story line and a few minor characters.  
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I couldn't believe Holmes' plan for getting hard evidence. It involved several things that were dangerous and probably illegal as well, but one visit to Lorelei hardened our resolve. Poor girl, hooked up to a ventilator and everything. The nurse told us she was doing fine, but during our visit, she was drifting in and out of consciousness. Not terribly reassuring.  
  
Holmes' plan was to look through Moriarty's house for evidence. Lorelei did live with her uncle during the summer, so our excuse about looking for the rest of her stuff was plausible, if not accurate. I still had this horrible feeling that if we were caught no one would hear about it. Ever. Or maybe I had just watched to many detective movies.   
  
Holmes and I showed up at Moriarty's house around eight. House was kinda a understatement. Put a few turrets here and there it would have been a castle, it was even built with stone. A maid that was the stereotype of the stately old matron let us in and guided us up to Lorelei's room. Before Mildred (that was actually her name!) left she apologized for the state of the room and told us she would be in the kitchen if we needed her.  
  
I saw what she meant. Lorelei's room looked like any other teenager's room. In other words, it was a train wreck. A tornado in the middle of the room would have been an improvement. We grabbed enough stuff to cover our alibi and sneaked downstairs.   
  
Lord Moriarty's study was the exact opposite of Lorelei's room. Everything was neatly labeled and filed away in locked file cabinets. I kept look out while Holmes picked the locks. The maid puttered past once, but that was it. The whole thing was almost anti-climactic.   
  
Even though we knew what we were looking for, vaguely, finding what it was filed under was nearly impossible. Everything went according to some arcane system; personal letters were filed by topic, business letter filed by name. I finally found a likely file under "Inheritance, Lorelei"  
  
"Holmes!" I hissed. He spun and grabbed the file out of my hand and spread it out on the pristine desk. The first thing that caught my eye was a paper headed "Last Will and Testament."   
  
"I Joseph Moriarty, of sound mind and body…" He read. "Look here, it leaves everything to Lorelei in a trust fund she gets when she graduates college." I looked at the sum of money and whistled.  
  
"As soon as Lei graduates all that money that Moriarty used to have disappears." I shook my head and mentally cursed Moriarty.  
  
Among the other papers was a list of names and numbers, some investments in from the trust fund, and an invoice marked two days ago; the day of Lorelei's shooting.  
  
"Close enough." He whispered and shoved all the papers back into their manila folder. I closed all the file drawers quietly and they locked automatically.   
  
We hurried out the door. I put my hand on the knob just in time to have it pulled out from underneath my hand. My heart leaped into my throat. This was it. We had been caught. We were now officially screwed.   
  
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::Insert dramtic music here and fade to commerical:: .·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	5. Denouement

Disclaimer: All things belong to Arthur Conan Doyle. I am only borrowing them for my humble storyline.  
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The door swung open to reveal Mildred the maid. She must have heard us and come to investigate. Her surprise quickly turned to suspicion.   
  
"What were you doing in there?" She asked coldly. I was too busy swallowing my surprise to answer.  
  
"We got lost. We were looking for the kitchen to tell you we were done, but when we found this library I just had to have a look." I turned to look at Holmes and almost laughed at the 'innocent look' on his face. The maid stepped out of the doorway and let us out. She looked inside, and seeing that everything was in its proper place, she closed the door.   
  
"This way dearies. I've gotten lost in this huge place many a time." Her suspicions now relieved, she showed Holmes and I the door. Right before she opened it, the squeal of rubber on gravel met our ears.  
  
"Oh dear. I forgot to tell the master you were coming. He won't be pleased." Mildred muttered to herself.  
  
"We could go out the back." I offered. Mildred nodded.  
  
"Down the hall, fifth door on the left." She pointed. We both nodded and dashed down the hall. The kitchen was just as grand as the rest of the house, like one of those kitchens on cleaner commercials. We heard the door open and shut, two voices talking, then the footsteps of the maid. "He's gone up the stairs. Hurry."  
  
I didn't need any encouragement. I was out the door in less than ten seconds, with Holmes a few steps behind. The giant electrified gated meant for security stood wide open and closed behind us. It wasn't until we were back in my dorm room that we breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
"Now," Said Holmes. "How do we get this to the police without getting caught?"  
  
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In the end, we just sent it anonymously to Scotland Yard. The whole thing caused a terrible scandal. Moriarty fled the country and was last heard of in France. I figured we'd see him again. His motive seemed to be that he'd lost a ton of money in bad investments. They did catch the gunman though. Some petty thug who pleaded to a reduced sentence in about two seconds flat.  
  
Lorelei on the other hand, was doing great. She was already doing the rehab thing. Her right arm had been shattered by one of the bullets, so she'd never play the guitar as well as she used to. But, since her voice was unharmed, we just needed a new lead guitar.   
  
Which was what we were doing now, auditioning for a new lead guitar. We were hanging around James' lavishly appointed basement going over the names of people who signed up.   
  
"Hey Holmes, come look at this." James waved the paper at him. He snatched it out of his hand.   
  
"What am I looking at?" He asked.  
  
"Seventh name." Holmes scanned the list.   
  
"Oh, God." He laughed. "This is just too unbelievable."  
  
"What?" I asked. He pointed out the name.   
  
"Oh God. Kevin Lestrade."   
  
THE END  
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that's all for now! i'm working on a new Irregulars story so keep an eye out!  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·. 


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